


Mountain Top

by Comburo



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Character Development, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, M/M, leon has good friends, leon your boyfriend loves you dude, shout out mental illness, work is stressful but lets go party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23249341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comburo/pseuds/Comburo
Summary: Sometimes, Leon thinks a little too hard about how isolating being the undefeated Champion of Galar can be. It's too easy to get lost and light-headed when he's so high, propped up by his skill, his title and his responsibility.It's a good thing that he has such a steadfast group of rowdy, dedicated friends who know just how to pull him back down to Earth. If only for a night.(Or: Leon tries to spend much needed time with his crew of fellow famous 20-somethings, with varying degrees of success.)
Relationships: Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan, Rurina | Nessa/Sonia
Comments: 10
Kudos: 115





	Mountain Top

Leon is not unfamiliar with the acute loneliness of a title. 

Celebrity and sport are peculiar beasts. Leon thinks he’s managed them just fine (really well, actually, thank you!). He’s learned just how to stand, how to smile, how to find the soft, vulnerable underbelly of any opponent. He’s a flood, unstoppable and undeniable. He’s gotten so used to the crown that his neck doesn’t even hurt anymore and his ears don’t ring when a crowd is screaming his name. He’s able to pay for his mother’s house, to ease the strain of bad winters on a small farming town that is still more home than the opulent penthouse in Wyndon, to ensure his little brother’s clothes are new and not worn from years past. 

Still, being the undefeated champion of Galar for over a decade can get rather isolating. 

He feels it most when he’s sitting at the counter of the apartment Rose purchased for him, a helping of reheated takeout in front of him on a plate too nice to use just for some lukewarm sausage curry (he only ever uses one or two, he doesn’t know why he bought a whole set). Leon is particularly aware of how quiet the kitchen is. He only has one light on, casting the expansive condo in a dreary darkness that makes it look vacant. Teeth worry at the skin just behind his bottom lip and he has to roll his tongue over his teeth to get himself to stop (a mindful movement he learned years ago, when he used to bite sores into his own mouth).

There’s a heavy, palpable mist that lingers on the edges of perception, an oppressive weight that makes him feel as though he is alone standing on the peak of a mountain he barely remembers scaling. The marble countertop under his elbows seems distant and he isn’t sure if he can smell the food anymore. He clenches the fork in his hand until the metal is so warm he can’t differentiate it from his palm. 

There’s a chill that comes with being this high, with being the Champion. At least his cape — gosh, did he really forget to take it off, again? — is heavy and lined with wool. Leon had been only a boy when he reached these heights and he can’t remember any time in the last twelve years when he’d been unafraid of looking down, over the edge. 

Or maybe that is grandiose. He’s become prone to bigheadedness since he’d taken the championship title. Rose loves coloring even the most mundane with broad, imperious prose. It makes everything feel just a little more important. Leon’s picked up the habit, if only internally. 

Raihan would just say he’s a cocky prick and be done with it. 

A loud tone pulls him back to himself swiftly and he shakes his head, chasing away his reverie. His Rotom is buzzing beside the fridge, blinking to life and lifting itself up to dutifully float over to Leon. The beat of his ringtone is foreign for a second, but crude song lyrics quickly follow and he groans aloud as he holds his hand out for Rotom. 

_“Ay! Ay ay- I’mma dip my balls in some thousand island dressin’, cuz I got depression-“_

Fuck, why did he let Sonia play around with his phone settings? Thank Arceus she hadn’t called him earlier. If Oleana had heard —

Leon would have to chastise her later. Especially since he knows exactly why she’s poking fun.

“Hello?,” he answers readily once he’s pressed his thumb to pick up Sonia’s call, his annoyance swallowed up by the relief of his childhood friend’s distraction. 

“Where are you?,” Sonia asks expectantly. He can hear other voices in the background. “Did you get lost? I _told_ Raihan to send you specific directions, you don’t know shite about Spikemuth.”

“Did I- oh-“ _Spikemuth._ He’d forgotten. Leon is supposed to be at Piers’s place, they’d all agreed to meet there this time. Spikemuth may be the ugly step child of Galar in Rose’s opinion, but it had some of the best underground clubs. “I-“

“You forgot and haven’t even left yet,” Sonia cuts him off, knowing him so keenly that he doesn’t even have to try to configure an excuse. Her tone is saturated with irritation, but not venom. His memory hasn’t exactly been the best since- well- “Go get dressed! You’re lucky, Nessa only just started putting her make up on.” Some indignant protesting muffles Sonia’s voice a bit, but it only makes Leon smile. 

“Right. ‘Course. I’ll take my time then,” he drawls through a snicker. 

“The fuck you won’t!,” he can’t help but laugh, heartily this time, at her swift admonition, “We can’t pregame proper until everyone is here, so get your arse in gear! Hurry up! I love you, bye!”

Sonia hangs up before he can respond in their familial way, but he doesn’t mind.

The chill of his flat had been chased away by her voice and his chest is lighter. He doesn’t feel like he’s on quite as precarious ground and his mind refocuses on her instructions. He had to get ready, then he had to go see his friends. Finally, he remembers to shrug the cape off his shoulders and he leaves it draped over the counter, the cold curry quickly shoveled into his mouth as he carries the plate with him down the hall. 

Leon’s uniform is shucked and haphazardly thrown on the floor. After a quick shower, he massages product into his hair to combat the frizz while he stands in his expansive closet. He may let other people dress him for nearly every event in his life, but nights like tonight he can wear whatever he likes. A hair tie sticks out from between his pursed lips while he considers his options, trying to remember Nessa’s routine lectures on colors and patterns and whatever the else had to do with clothes. 

He slips on some lean pants (having to pull a bit to get them over his ass, he notices smugly) and tucks his under shirt beneath the waistband, fastening his belt with deft fingers. He tugs on a sleek button up and rolls up the sleeves, finally topping his head with a hat once his hair is braided. 

Leon flips his wrist to check his watch, pleased with how quickly he’s managed to get his shit together. Maybe Gordie wouldn’t even have opened the hard liquor by the time he finally gets to Piers’s place. 

They — he and his steadfast crew of prestigious miscreants: Sonia, Nessa, Raihan, Piers, Gordie and Milo — tried hard to get together as often as possible. Their Saturday night outings are tradition and have been since they were all teenagers. Be it a night of video games and chicken wings or an uproarious outing to a club, they committed to getting together at least twice a month. Leon knows just how integral these nights are. He can already feel his back relax, easing the painful tension that had settled between his shoulder blades earlier that day during his third conference call of the morning. 

Rotom buzzes and Leon looks up from tying his shoes to see the text. 

“I DID send you those directions, but I’m just gonna ping my location for you. At least Charizard can follow the GPS.” Raihan’s text is followed by another notification with his route, Rotom helpfully chiming out an estimated time of arrival. 

Leon sends a thankful kiss emoji. 

“I look really good, btw. So prepare yourself.” Raihan replies. Leon scoffs audibly and doesn’t bother responding, tucking his key into his pocket once his door is locked behind him. 

The night air is cool on his skin — a cold so different from the one Sonia had pulled him from — and he takes a deep breath that feels like it rattles in his lungs. He’s smiling when he releases Charizard from his pokeball. His partner crouches to allow Leon to easily climb onto his back, the strong beat of his leathery wings heaving them off the ground and into the sky. 

The world is so full of color outside his flat. White walls and white marble kitchen counters are washed away with the vibrant view of the skies over Wyndon. Charizard chases the horizon, Rotom chattering against the dragon-like Pokemon’s ear, and Leon indulges in the crisp bite of the wind against his skin. He leans back, his stomach taut holding him in place, a thick, purple braid whipping in his wake. His throat feels raw, his nose nipped red, his fingers a little numb. It’s perfect.

The flight ends too soon and somehow not soon enough. Charizard touches down and lets Leon climb off, flicking his wing at his trainer before stomping into the city. Leon knows better than to protest, even with Charizard, and quickly scurries after the lizard, grinning in spite of himself.

Leon hasn’t spent much time in Spikemuth, he realizes with a tinge of regret. The city may not be the shining bastion Wyndon is, or the medieval marvel Hammerlocke is, but it is especially lived in. The sense of community is easily noticed, even by strangers. Leon understands Piers’s affection for his hometown — he is much the same way with sleepy little Postwick — and has to quickly swallow the guilt that bubbles up at the back of his throat like bile. He should do something about Rose’s policies. The Chairman’s tactics to try to squeeze Piers into changing the location of his gym are hardly humane, and yet Leon hasn’t said a single fucking word about it to anyone, let alone —

Leon squeaks as he walks straight into Charizard’s wing. “Sorry, Chomps,” he flashes Charizard an appropriately chastised look when the Pokemon glowers down at him. Chompers the Charizard, as he was so aptly named by an overly enthusiastic ten year old, puffs in mild annoyance and points at the stairs leading up into a (somewhat dilapidated) brick building. Leon gratefully scratches behind the crest of the big lizard’s horn before returning him to his ball and taking the stairs two at a time.

He nearly trips, but that’s fine. He’s totally good and no one saw. Didn’t even scuff his shoes at all. 

Leon finally ends up in front of the door, rapping his knuckles against the chipped paint. He can hear muted chattering and shuffling about before the door swings open with a slight wheeze. 

Piers’s familiar scowl greets him, the dark-type gym leader guffawing loudly and turning back into the flat, leaving Leon at the door. “Hark! T’Champion ‘imself graces we peasantry at long last,” Piers announces, bowing in a lazy flourish that is far more playful than his expression. The room Leon steps into, a living space attached to a small, open-format kitchen, is lit with dull, warm glow of lights strung up around the walls. Bodies are strewn across the layout in various states of preparedness for their evening. They all turn or lift their heads at his entrance, multiple voices rising in a familiar roar of collective greeting, words blurring together. He recognizes the strong beat from two tall speakers against the far wall. Leon grins so wide his cheeks dimple.

“That’s right, rabble,” Leon declares, and even though his voice is dripping with fake gravitas, he can’t help but feel like he’s taking off a mask. “Are you ready for a —“ palms lightly slap to his thighs and he hikes up his pants, dipping down with bent knees and a curved back, “Champion Time?” He swirls his hips to the loud, cackling approval of his friends. They cat-call and woop, a rowdiness that they inspire filling him with a gleeful weightlessness. He can only bounce his ass for a moment before he can’t help but burst into laughter as well, straightening up with a bright gleam in his golden eyes.

These are his people. He can be himself with them. As much of himself as he is able, anyway.

A tall figure peels away from where a group is mixing a drink to come to Leon’s side, reaching out to take his hat and turn it backwards on his head (keeping that perilous bill out of the way). Raihan dips in to kiss his smile, his chuckle making his mouth vibrate against Leon’s. 

“Hey,” Leon finally greets, his ears turning a bit pink. Raihan’s grin is dopey and unburdened. It makes Leon’s stomach tighten. Its _always_ done that, to be fair. He’s a sucker. “You do look good, thanks for the warning. I’ll try not to swoon.”

“You’re failing,” Raihan chuffs, smug. He’s right, of course. Leon finds it very difficult to keep his gaze from lingering. The dragon trainer is nothing if not striking, even outside of his signature uniform. Especially when his fangs are just barely catching his full bottom lip and there’s no headband to hide the way his pupils seem to sharpen into slits. Raihan tugs gently on the end of Leon’s braid and Leon feels a little flush. “Glad you got here in one piece, I thought I was gonna be stuck alone with these misfits.”

“The _horror_ ,” Leon giggles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He steals another kiss.

“Can you two stop discussing the Homosexual Agenda for once and help mix this drink, _please_?,” Sonia whines loudly from the table, “I would like to get drunk sometime this century.”

Leon lets out a bashful “sorry” just as Raihan snorts out an unbothered “never.”

Leon quickly makes his way to Sonia’s side, careful not to accidentally kick out the book that was balancing the broken leg of one end of the table, and presses a chaste kiss to her temple in greeting. The look she shoots him is affectionate, even if her face is still scrunched up. She is his sister in all but blood and she doesn’t hesitate to tease him, especially when she needs him to do something. A bowl of cut limes and lemons gets pushed into his hands and he is tasked with squeezing them into the concoction Sonia is mixing. 

Raihan returns to his original spot: lounging in a chair beside Nessa, whom is stubbornly not paying attention to anyone as she finishes her eyeliner. 

“Oh my god, can someone muddle these herbs, pleaaaase?,” Sonia asks as she pops off the top of a handle of gin and pours it into the serving jug. She’s making the same drink they’d crafted years ago: a gin and tonic drowned in lemonade, limeade and whatever herbs they could find. It is a bit of a staple, something they have all put in for since back when they used to see each other during breaks from school (Leon never got to go to university. He had lived vicariously through the stories Sonia and Raihan shared while they showed off how much their livers had matured after semesters as college students).

“I’m giving you all the emotional support I can, sweetheart,” Nessa assures her girlfriend, nonchalant while she checks the curve of a brow.

“You said I pulverized the mint last time,” Raihan smiles like a cat, his chin in his hand.

“That’s because you turned it into a paste-“

“All the more reason for someone else to do it, then.”

“I got you, Sonia,” Milo finally comes to her rescue, clapping Leon on the back and grabbing the bundles of greens.

“Thank you, Milo,” Sonia chimes in the sweetest voice she can muster. “Finally, a man who knows his way around plants.” She flicks a sprig of rosemary at Raihan.

“I know plants just fine,” the dragon-type gym leader says, lifting his chin.

“We get it, y’smoke weed,” Piers deadpans, not even looking up from the playlist he’s combing through on his phone.

The banter washes over Leon and he is easily lulled into a kind of contentment that settles in his soul. It is an unguarded, effortless peace. Gordie and Piers join them at the table once the juice is done. The drinks are strong, the music louder than it should be, and Raihan’s leaning into Leon’s side with an arm draped over his shoulders. Leon can’t suppress the smile he presses into the rim of his cup while Raihan taps the beat of the song into his bicep, letting the comforting presence of his happy friends make his title, his responsibilities, and his worries seem far away and unimportant.

He can’t even see the peak when he feels this grounded.

The group finally gets its act together, finishing their drinks and their preparations, conversing as they gather their things and quickly clean up after themselves. The noisy chatter — “Do I need a coat?” “Don’t forget your phone again.” “Piers can I leave Shuckle out of his pokeball while we’re gone?” “How far is this bar? I shouldn’t have worn these heels.” — makes Leon feel full. They’ve been this way since they were kids. He wouldn’t trade these noisy, disorganized louts for anyone. 

Not that it’s particularly easy to make new friends when you’re the Champion of an entire region, mind you. He’s luck out with these folks, though, and he knows it. 

His introspection is making him a little quiet, perhaps more so than usual. He knows Raihan can tell, but his boyfriend has the grace to offer him a smile and his arm, tugging Leon into his side. The alcohol warms his stomach and Raihan’s hand in his warms his heart. Leon feels present. Seen. Known.

Piers leads them, the lit cigarette in his hand their own kind of guiding torch. Leon is grateful that the streets of Spikemuth are calmer than he is used to. Safer, in a way. He isn’t looking for paparazzi or strategizing how to dodge fans. Team Yell is mischievous and enthusiastic, but they’re respectful, and the famous Pokemon trainers are unimpeded in their journey to get absolutely smashed at a club like any other group of old friends on a Saturday night.

The path they take is winding. Or maybe Leon just thinks it is because he lacks a sense of direction. Piers gets them there regardless. It’s unassuming from the outside, like most of Spikemuth, but Leon can hear the steady bump of the music once they step down the stairs and into the alcove in front of the entrance. They’re waved through easily, the bouncer not bothering to hold them up by checking their IDs. Gordie starts making a joke about how one of them could be underage until Piers cuffs the back of his head with the broad side of his hand. Milo has to put his license away, he’d already had it ready.

It isn’t flashy. There’s bright, colorful lights, but they’re more subdued than some of the overwhelming spots they’d tried in Wyndon or Motostoke. The crowd isn’t smothering and they’re quickly lead to a wide VIP section, still open but separate enough for them to get some privacy. Milo and Piers go to grab the first round of drinks.

“Oh!! They’re playing Unovan stuff,” Nessa immediately notices with delight, turning on Sonia’s arm to look pointedly at Leon.

He and Nessa had earned a bit of a reputation… for being enthusiastic on the dance floor. Leon has always had an immense affection for dancing. He is an athlete and has relied on physical expression a lot since his childhood to help expend energy and emotions, even getting a bit of training when he had enough time in his schedule (the boxing classes Rose had suggested were great, but there was nothing like the seclusion of a dance studio, where he could feel the music shaking his bones through the floor). 

It is easier to cut loose and feel free while moving to the music. Nessa understands just as well as he does, and they aren’t afraid to have as much fun as possible.

Add alcohol to the mix and he lost a lot of the inhibitions that make up the foundations of his usually measured Champion persona.

Nessa, of course, loves to take advantage, especially because they make a rambunctious pair. Leon still remembers the headlines in the gossip rags when someone had snuck pictures of them out together at a club a couple of years ago: “DIRTY DANCING: Hot and Bothered Champion Leon & Gym Leader Nessa, Having ‘The Time Of Their Lives’?”. ‘Sources’ had said they’d been dating for weeks. 

That was news to them, considering they were both blatant homosexuals.

Raihan still has a clipping of it somewhere, Leon dimly remembers. “What? You look hot,” Raihan said when he’d found it on his desk in his room, as if that explained everything.

“I wanna dance,” the Champion declares, to no one’s surprise. 

Gordie rounds Leon’s shoulder and places a cool glass in his hand. “Drinks first, Ms. Thee Stallion can wait.”

Raihan lets out a deep laugh and gulps back some of his liquor, his eyes shining with mirth. He licks away the excess before he speaks and Leon can’t help but notice how his lips glisten. “We can multitask. Right, Lee?”

“You two share exactly one braincell, it’s any wonder how either of you remembers how to breathe and walk at the same time,” Sonia says as she sits back against the plush booth. 

“Fair. Mean-spirited, but fair.”

“Don’t wander far, children,” Piers flicks one limp wrist at him and Raihan, swirling his drink with the other. “T’adults will be right ‘ere.”

Leon tugs Raihan away before he makes the stupid joke that Leon knows is right on the tip of his tongue. 

His boyfriend practically lumbers behind him as Leon leads them back to the dance floor, but as they draw closer Raihan’s heavy steps become more deft and he naturally picks up the tempo, swaying fluidly into the music with his glass suspended in one hand. The other winds around Leon’s hip when the Champ finally turns to face him, a thumb dragging over the near-iridescent fabric of his shirt. “You look good, too,” Raihan rumbles over the music, Leon’s close enough to hear with little difficulty. “I didn’t say so earlier.”

“Oh? Do I?” Leon cocks his head to the side, his eyes glinting mischievously. 

“Almost as good as me, I’d say,” Raihan teases.

“Just almost.”

“Fine. More than almost. Better, even,” he relents. “It’s almost been three weeks since I’ve seen you, Lee, I’m a little starved.”

Raihan means it in the best way, but guilt makes Leon’s stomach turn. A once, his isolation doesn’t seem so false and unreal. He’s a little farther from ground and he knows it. He hates that Raihan has to feel that unsettling loneliness too, that Leon isn’t the only one itching under the Champion title (of course he isn’t, how selfish to even think so). He doesn’t allow his thoughts to show on his face, his smile amorous. 

“We can’t have that, can we? You’re skinny enough at it is.” He pokes Raihan’s chest.

“Hardy har. Not everyone packs on muscle like you do, hotshot. Your perception is warped.”

They move together easily, gracefully. They’re well suited to one another, anticipating each other’s moves not unlike when they battled. Raihan doesn’t look as fierce now, but the effect he has on Leon is just as profound. He feels so startlingly real Leon has a hard time processing just how much he craves his touch, craves the way he casually glides into step, the way their hips sway together. He feels a little starved too, he realizes.

“I’ll stay the night here,” he decides as they dance, Raihan’s hand steady on his moving hip, “and I’ll go back with you to Hammerlocke tomorrow.”

Raihan’s eyes gleam, even in the dark of the club. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s been a minute since I slept over.”

They’ve shared so little space recently, let alone one of their beds. Even in the off-season, Leon’s schedule is a swamp. They so often have to make do with incessant texts and long calls into the wee hours of the morning when they get the chance, or fleeting meals together when they’re in the same city. It’s gotten worse as they’ve gotten older. As teenagers they could huddle together and waste days on whimsy. So much has changed since then.

And yet, so much is still the same. The boyish happiness on Raihan’s face still effectively turns Leon’s insides to mush. 

“Good,” Raihan sounds just as satisfied as Leon feels. 

The air between them shifts, tensing. Raihan’s hand slides to the small of Leon’s back, pulling the Champion closer. Leon glances down, his palm lingering on Raihan’s chest without missing a step. Finger tips tuck under his waistband, a warm palm flush against the curve of his spine. 

“Don’t forget your drink,” he hears Raihan say, distantly. “Our friends paid a whole 8£ for that.”

Oh. Right. His drink. 

He brings the glass to his lips and takes a gulp, savoring the way the alcohol tastes. His momentarily distraction makes him miss a beat, his knee knocking into Raihan’s and jostling him. He corrects himself, but not without spilling some of his drink. “Shit-“ he hisses, pulling back from Raihan. He can feel the cold liquid dribble down his neck and he doesn’t want to soak his collar.

“Clumsy,” his boyfriend chides through a grin, his hold on Leon unyielding. Gold eyes shift to him in question. “Now you’ve made a mess.”

“Rai-“ Leon chokes on the rest of his name as the gym leader leans in and presses an open mouthed kiss to the trail of liquor. 

He is once again thankful the club is dark and Spikemuth’s partygoers have a persistent disinterest toward the famous trainers in their midsts, because he can hardly imagine the image he’s projecting with Raihan’s tongue trailing up the side of his throat. Leon is breathless by the time Raihan stops and refocuses on his mouth, the kiss he pushes past his lips tasting as crisp as his drink. 

The music drones in his ears and Leon breaks the kiss with a light-headed chuckle. He rests their brows together, readjusting to their rhythm and letting Raihan easily lead him. His heart feels close to bursting — _I miss you. I love you. I’m so glad you’re here._ — so he stays quiet, tethered to Raihan by the practiced movements of their bodies. 

Uncharacteristically indifferent to the music, he isn’t sure how many songs pass them by before Raihan’s hand retreats and his head lifts up. “About fuckin’ time,” the lanky man calls to the approaching group they’d left in the VIP section. Leon downs the rest of his drink. “You blokes fall asleep over there?”

“You hush! Take this from me before I drop it,” Sonia is holding their next round. Raihan steps back from Leon to exchange their glasses and the Champion laments the distance. If only for a moment.

It can be hard to widen his perception beyond just Raihan, but his friends quickly encompass him once more and he’s laughing as Milo clinks their glasses together and Gordie goads him into a selfie. When Nessa grabs his arm to dance he is well and truly, happily and pleasantly intoxicated. 

Leon loves these people. More than anything. He wishes he could express it more, so he tries. He gives out more hugs and “I love you so much, bro”s than he can count. 

Soon his throat burns a bit from laughing and shouting over the music. His knees ache and his thighs burn from the reckless frivolity. His neck twinges a little from when he’d been a little overly ambitious in how vigorously he could toss his hair (he’d apologized for hitting Piers with his braid so profusely that the singer had just whipped him in the face with his own unruly mane when he refused to drop it). His shirt sticks a little uncomfortably to his skin from sweat and he’s sure he looks a mess, but he’s beaming. In various stages of disarray, the crew finally decides to call it a night and they make their way out of the club and into the late night air.

Raihan’s hand finds his again once Piers and his freshly lit cigarette leads their band back down the street. He squeezes the fingers threaded through his and for once his mind is quiet. 

Milo and Gordie heave themselves into a corvicab once they make it back to Piers’s block, squeezing each one of them in tight hugs and promising to text once they safely arrived at their respective homes. The surviving five stumble into Piers’s apartment, just barely managing to situate themselves before collapsing in their host’s bedroom. They’re too clumsy and loud for the early morning. Thank Arceus Marnie is staying over at a friend’s place.

Grateful to be in just his undershirt and briefs, Leon flops face down onto the giant air mattress they sometimes tote around to these gatherings. Usually they’d all just huddle in one of their beds — just like when they were kids and stuffing themselves into one tent in the wild area so no one had to be alone at night — but Piers’s mattress is small so they adapt. He, Raihan, Sonia and Nessa pile together and Piers leans over the edge of his bed. They whisper and giggle until, one by one, they can’t keep their eyes open any longer. 

It should be uncomfortable. There’s too many elbows around. It’s gotten stuffy in the room from all their body heat. Raihan fell asleep on his back so he’s snoring just a little too loud. Sonia’s knee is in his back. It’s comforting. It’s tangible. He feels whole and warm. He feels like Leon, rather than like Champion. He falls asleep with his cheek smushed into Raihan’s chest.

He awakes with a groan, his mouth tasting sour and his head aching. Light barely seeps through Piers’s blackout blinds and Leon has to peer into the darkness, smacking his lips. A heavy arm is throne across him and there’s a face tucked into his neck, warm breath puffing into his collar. Leon wants nothing more than to sleep off his hangover, stubbornly closing his eyes as he turns his nose into Raihan’s hair (he can smell the loc oil his boyfriend uses and it is almost as intoxicating as the liquor they had the night before).

He doesn’t manage, though. His Rotom hovers in front of his face and quietly, politely chirps for his attention. It apologetically keeps its light dim as it shows him who is calling. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he growls, his voice a little hoarse as he carefully wiggles out of Raihan’s arms, to the sleeping man’s displeasure. 

Leon scrubs his face with a rough palm, holding the phone to his ear once he accepts the incoming call. “Oleana,” he greets, quietly exiting the room so as not to disturb his friends.

Fuck, of course. Of _course_ they’d schedule something. His schedule had been updated, Oleana so helpfully informs him, but of _course_ it was only updated after he’d already left his flat the night before. He simply couldn’t disappoint the Chairman. This event is important, even if it apparently wasn’t important enough to make sure he knew about it in advance. 

He ends the call and grits out a long exhale. Hands work into his hair and he undoes his messy braid, wincing softly through the tangles. If he left now he’ll have enough time to shower once he gets back to Wyndon.

Leon gingerly opens the door to the bedroom once more and gathers up his things. He doesn’t realize he’d woken someone up until the air mattress whines and a hand grips the back of his shirt. “Dandelion?”

A private name, one he realizes he hasn’t heard for a few weeks.

He looks over his shoulder to see Raihan squinting at him, his free hand scrubbing lightly at one of his eyes. Leon has the decency to feel a little ashamed. “Mornin’, baby,” he whispers, “I gotta go. Work shit.”

“Work?,” Raihan sounds so confused it makes Leon’s chest ache, “it’s Sunday. I thought you were comin’ home?” Home? What, Wyndon? Postwick?

_Coming home._ Oh fuck. Hammerlocke.

He forgot again. 

He should have put his foot down, for once. He should call Oleana back and tell her that it was too damn early on a Sunday morning for him to give a single shit about whatever needed doing in Wyndon. 

Instead, he only smiles a little, sad smile and shakes his head. “Not today. Something came up.”

Raihan’s brow furrows and his nose scrunches between his sleepy eyes. The frustration and hurt is so plain on his face that Leon’s blood runs cold for a breath. He’s such an idiot. He still moves to stand. Raihan’s grip tightens on his shirt.

“ _Riahan_ ,” his voice is sterner than he has any right to be. His lover’s hand retreats as if stung. “I’ll call you later. Okay?”

The dragon trainer remains silent, but he nods. He leans back on the air mattress and Leon doesn’t give chase to kiss him goodbye. 

“Get some more sleep,” he coaxes quietly as he pulls his pants back on. Raihan grunts coarsely then rolls back into bed, huddling a little closer to the girls, the pair still safely out cold. 

He leaves the room, closing the door as softly as possible. 

He feels a little sick once he’s back outside the flat and he isn’t sure whether it’s from a hangover or the way his heart twists as he leaves his friends behind. Charizard is released from his ball with a lazy yawn, drowsily leading his trainer out of Spikemuth then taking off into the sky with him astride his back. 

Leon can feel that cold mist again. It’s so thick he struggles to breathe it in. A chill that has nothing to do with the weather settles into his bones, his muscles quivering as Charizard carries them back to Wyndon. His back feels bare without the weight of his cape and his spine shivers.

He’s acutely familiar with the loneliness that comes with his title. He’s familiar, but he’s never gotten used to it. 

He feels the taunting altitude of the peak, even with his hands holding tight to Charizard’s shoulders. They’re already on the descent into Wyndon, but Leon feels like he’s climbing. 

The air is thin when he’s on the mountain top, it’s a wonder he can breathe it at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Well that was my first ever piece of fanfiction. Of course it's about gays & self-image issues.  
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Check me out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/Comburos) if you like.


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